What they don’t tell you in school,
while you’re trying to remember
the difference between prophase and metaphase
chromosomes and chromatin
is that really
biology isn’t science
biology is life


See, divorce
divorce is like mitosis
slow to start, but quick to finish

Begins at prophase
when conflicts arise as your family’s nucleolus,
your family’s unity
disappears

Your carefree life, your chromatin,
coil and change
become tight, tense chromosomes

Outside forces, mitotic spindles,
residing in the cytoplasm
start creeping towards your parents
to separate their souls

Metaphase:
you’re all lined up
single file
ready for battle

Centrosomes, middles of each new life,
poised opposing each other
with their spindles latched onto you kinetochore, your middle,
like a dog with it’s leash

Anaphase:
everything separates,
your world’s torn apart
and you’re left silently
watching
alone
as your sister is torn from your life

Telophase:
the pain starts to lessen
as you uncoil
and your broken family’s nuclear membrane
begins to reform

Once the paper’s are signed
once the cell’s wall’s rebuilt
your old life is over
and the process
it’s finished

See, they don’t tell you
don’t think you need to know
that
divorce is simply biology
and
mitosis
well, it’s life

His finger fidgeted with the small hole in his jeans
Right above the left knee
It caressed the rust of a healing scab

He knew boyhood was sitting at the tense end of a slingshot
While balancing on a thin branch
Creeping in through the window
Of his tree house

His shins were permanently bruised
From hitting the edge of the bed
After jumping and missing
In order to avoid whatever may be living underneath it

Ten years from now he will regret
Not being in enough family photos
And for placing too many boxes full of old clothes
Underneath his bed
For anything to truly live there

He will know manhood sitting at a red light
Begging the breaks to go out
So his only option will be
To go

When he is old
And so much a baby again
He will beg time to be patient
Long enough to understand

Why when he was a boy
The slingshot band never broke from the tension
Before releasing rocks to break windows
He had to spend the summers working off

But as a man
Trapped at a red light
Why not once
The breaks ever went out
So that he might have an excuse
To go

Turn the corner
Hand tenses
Looking down the iron sights I see an object fall
"Tango down" I call over the radio
what was his name? Tango, Threat, Terrorist, doesn't matter.
Explosion
Mud brick wall vaporized into dust
Keep going
Out of breathe
Keep going
Hand tenses
"Tango down"
Does it have kids? A Family? Threat eliminated
Round the corner
Hand tenses
"Three tangos on west building roof top"
Bullets from my brothers **** by my helmet
Return fire
"Take Cover!"
Sweat drenched face fogs up my goggles
Explosion
Brick pieces pummel my back
Ears ringing, faintly hearing
"Alpha down, Medic!"
Blurred vision, equilibrium thrown off
Raise my rifle
Hand tenses
Silhouette falls
"Medic!" heard faintly
Hand tenses
"Are you okay?" sounds distant
Hand tenses
"babe?" getting louder
Hand tenses

Hand tenses

Wake up
Sheets heavy with sweat
"Babe, are you ok?"
Throwing the blankets I jump back to the edge of the bed
Her frightened face
I've seen before
I look down
Hands tense
Same look, no tangos
No threats
Just Ghosts

Section 17 Row H seats 11 and 12
Almost every home game does he see
A grey haired man with a clip board sits
Two seats over and one down from me
He's a scout for the bigs, Comes most games to watch
Can't watch as a fan anymore
They know he made it, was up with the Bruins
Played defence with Old Number Four
He watches intently for five minutes or so
Just enough to watch each kid skate twice
Then he drinks down his coffee all in one gulp
and then he returns his eyes to the ice
The Scout, we will call him, for lack of a name
Has seen kids who've got game disappear
They find out he's watching, they get all uptight
And they can't play 'cause they're all tense with fear

I watched for four games, got his routine down pat
Watched him arrive and watch the kids skate
He'd go down in the corner and stand by the glass
Watching close through the plexiglass plate
He stayed away from the coaches, the players as well
And the parents, he'd avoid like the plague
If one ever stopped him, and asked "How's my boy"
He'd smile, and give an answer so vague
His career ended early with a stick to the head
Almost killed him, but, he was too mean
His left the game early, with Wayne Maki to blame
The Scout, is Edward "Ted" Green


Each season he'd sit, watching game after game
In arenas all over the land
Some kids he'd notice, he did not come to watch
They were just something that wasn't planned
He'd come into town to watch a kid who could score
And go home with two names on his list
One a defence man, and the goalie as well
But, the scorer, couldn't skate and got missed
Ted, would watch and make his reports on kids
Some were right, and the kid would go pro
He may be a star in the minors right now
But, the bigs...well, fate only knows

He'd listen to parents and coaches talk of the boys
Saying "My son's the next Bobby Orr"
Ted would chuckle a little and not say a word
He knew the kid would be heard from no more
Putting pressure like that on a young players back
Is like saying, "My boy will be God"
From then on it's never, the talented kid
I'ts the boy cursed with Orr's lightning rod
Many young players get compared to the best
But to say it out loud is a curse
You put a red dot on the young players back
He may as well leave in a hearse

Ted's seen them all, coaches, players and bums
Played when the game was real tough
They  had lighter equipment, not kevlar like now
and Ted, as we know liked it rough
His scratches and scribbles on the page tell a lot
But to the untrained they look like a mess
A pharmacy student couldn't read what he wrote
Nor a court stenographer I guess
He's a spotter of talent with stories to tell
More of them about kids who fell short
Most of them cursed with the "My kids the next..."
and the name of the best in the sport

Two Hundred and Ten games he watches each year
Most times he's gone early on
He's sees what he needs and then he packs up his stuff
And by the end of the first, Ted is gone
He's off on the road to another ice rink
To sit and watch on the hard seats, so cold
To listen as parents and coaches again
Talk of greatness, it's all gotten old
Terrible Ted has a warriors soul
And his grey hair is thinner but, curly
He has ice in his veins and a stick through his heart
Too bad his playing time ended too early.

THE STORY OF SARA

OR A REFLECTION ON OURSELVES

Ayad Gharbawi

Chapter 4: THE HALLOWED PURIFICATION PROGRAMME




  One night, Omar began to thunder on:
  "No more of the disgusting concepts and ideas created by the Pigs! We should eliminate from our minds every single Pig that is influencing you, and I must say to you all, that I'm not seeing any progress."
  The audience suddenly went all quiet.
  Our leader was not satisfied with our emotional progress.
  We were not purifying our minds in a manner and speed that was satisfactory to the Great Noble Leader Omar.
  "I am looking at you all. I see you; yes, I, Omar, see each one of you. Your eyeballs seem to me to be unsure of what's behind them – I mean, your brains."
  Omar's voice began to talk in a tone that was almost a whisper, whilst the vast audience strained their ears to catch his every precious word.
  "And inside your brains lies our minds. Well, I'm talking about your minds, my friends. I'm not seeing progress. Yes, you do this riot; you **** this Pig; you burn this Pig school – and all of these acts are crucial to our holy cause. But, what about you yourselves? What about your own minds? Maybe you, too, are tainted with some of the Pig mentality yourselves? Now, how about that? Yes? What do you think?"
  The audience gasped.
  Omar began to raise his voice again.
  He was taunting this audience.
  Mocking them.
  Sarcastic.
  "Why, you really are telling me, that you think and feel and believe, that you have the right to **** Pigs?"
  At this question, Omar stopped.
  The audience gasped louder.
  I knew what they were thinking.
  Is our Great Noble Leader questioning our faith in him and in the cause itself?!
  He screamed, almost blowing away the microphones!
  "Why, who gives you the right to be soldiers in this unforgiving, merciless and ferocious war we are waging every day against vastly superior forces? I'll tell you 'who' gives you that right."
  The audience waited in tense anticipation at our leader's answer.
  It was so silent in this vast stadium, you could hear a pin fall.
  "What gives every man, woman and child the right to be a soldier in this brutal struggle is when that soldier has the purest heart and mind. It's as simple as that. And to be 'pure', my friends tonight, is the one who has not a shred, and does not have one ounce of Pig matter. That's right, you heard. Pig matter. Any dog that has even a fleeting Pig thought, is a Pig him or herself!"
  The audience now began to whisper among themselves.
  They seemed to be receiving the light from the words being delivered by Omar.
  Many were saying among themselves, that, 'Yes, we do have Pig thought and ideas and emotions and feelings in our hearts.'


  Omar continued, in a soft voice, after allowing his audience to digest his last words:
  "Yes, that does come as a surprise to you, doesn't it?"
  "Yes!" roared back the audience who now fully submitted to his question and answer.
  "So, I ask you – who are you?" he screamed!
  And the crowds immediately screamed:
  "Pigs! Pigs! Pigs! We are ***** Pigs!"
  Again and again, the crowd seemed to be going a little bit hysterical.
  Some began tearing off their clothes, as if they were trying to 'cleanse' themselves from their Pig thoughts!
  "That's right!" screamed back Omar, furiously and wildly staring with those maniacal eyeballs, like some trapped, ferocious animal, at his audience:
  "Why you yourselves are Pigs! That's right! Come on now! So, what are going to do about you? If you give yourselves the 'right' to **** Pigs, then why don't I have the same 'right' to order my best elite troops to **** you too?"
  "Save us! Save us!" screamed back the audience.
  "Save yourselves!" Omar screamed right back.
  "We are filthy! We are Pigs!" the audience began to insult themselves in all sorts of words and phrases.
  At this point, Omar was shrieking!
  "That's right! You are filthy Pigs yourselves, aren't you now?”
  The audience continued to scream and you couldn’t understand what they were saying anymore.
  Omar went just as suddenly silent.
  He just looked at his followers, and allowed them the need to express themselves.
  After some twenty minutes o this chaotic screaming, Omar became impatient and quickly motioned his followers to be quiet.
  Silence.
  He continued, with a soft tone:
  “So, I hereby announce the following."
  Once again the entire audience become tense.
  What was Omar going to order now?
  "I hereby allow you all, and I mean all our soldiers and not just those sitting with me here in this stadium; I order all of our soldiers to purify themselves of every Pig matter. You will have three months. And then, after that term ends, we will establish courts, to decide wether you have succeeded in cleaning yourselves from these cancerous and murderous feelings and emotions you have. Our courts and our hallowed judges will next decide, case by case, wether you are clean or not!"


  Later, when it appeared that our mostly pathetic, ***** and sick 'soldiers' were simply unable to cleanse their minds from the Pig establishment in three months – since they had no instructions or guidance - Omar, in his eternal grace, patience and humanity, decided to help them, by allowing classes to be held where one teacher would help each and everyone to 'cleanse' themselves.
  Personally, I thought that our Great Noble Leader was decidedly wrong in being so gracious to these so-called soldiers, because, in my opinion, this lot were not worthy of being in our party, and they ought to have been immediately expelled.
  "But, Sara," Omar would gently explain to me in his humble office, surrounded by his most trusted officers, "if we were to purge every undesirable element in the party, I would be left with practically nobody!"
  I took in his gracious words. and then thought about it.
  Why, he was correct, yet again, in his thinking!
  Indeed, if we did purify our party from the filthy ones, we would be left with little more than a handful of true, faithful and clean combatants and that, obviously, meant our self-destruction!
  "You're right, Sir; as usual, I think too hastily. That's why you are the only leader for us; my God, if I, God forbid, were leader, why I would have destroyed the party and our eternally holy cause years ago!"
  "Indeed, indeed, my dear," Omar softly said, but he seemed to have already forgotten my words, and, he was already somewhere else, thinking deeply about another problem.
  And so I, of course, went silent, so as not to disturb him.


  "You know what?" suddenly he asked me, his eyes sparkling with passion.
  "Yes, Sir?"
  "These 'classes' I was talking about. You've studied psychiatry, and I believe that we must use psychiatric methods to purify my subjects."
  Suddenly a strange feeling overcame me; I found the word describing the party members as 'my subjects' a little bit odd.
  Also, didn't Omar call psychiatry a Pig subject for all those years? Indeed, he said everything they taught us at university was evil, and that even the institutions of universities were dens of evil. And, yet, now, he was asking me to help him using what I was learning from my university days?
  "Yes, I can see the path I am talking about Sara. We need to get psychiatrists, like yourself, to tear out, yes, tear out, the filthiness in our party members."
  Suddenly, he got quite excited by his visions.
  "That's right, my dearest one, Sara. Yes, and I appoint you to supervise this programme of purification. That's right, and I shall call it by its simplest name, the 'Programme of Purification'!"
  Suddenly, I got excited as well, forgetting my previous disturbance.
  "That would be such a heroic move on your part, Sir." I gleefully told Omar.
  I feel that not only was he the saviour for our nation, but that he was also a personal saviour for myself.
  "Yes, I see my vision where it is leading us to. My dear Sara; you will set up these classes and you will bring the psychiatrists and you will purify the ***** elements in our classes."
  I got nervous again, for I just realized the magnitude of the job Saviour Omar was demanding I do for him!
  "And therefore, I Omar call for an immediate ceasefire against all Pigs!"
  Everyone in the office stood there in a state of shock!
  A ceasefire against the damnable Pigs?!
  Holy Omar could, of course, read our faces and smiled.
  "But Holy Sir," one officer softly asked, "how can we have a ceasefire against the most evil forces in the history of our country?"
  "And, Sir," asked another officer, "if we stop our eternally pure and humanistic battle against the disease-ridden pigs, wouldn't the latter take that as a sign of weakness on our part?"
  Next, saviour Omar raised his hand.
  Everyone went silent.
  He looked at us.
  There were no words from his mouth.
  We waited humbly.
  Geniuses take their time to formulate the right structure of words, not because they don't know what to say, but they do so that we fools can understand what they have to say.
  It is out of concern for us.
  Omar finally spoke:
  My clean, pure soldiers. We must declare a ceasefire, for I have no other choice. As a humanist, how can I allow impure elements from our party to fight and **** Pigs, when they themselves are still 'impure'? Where is the morality in that?"
  Suddenly, I couldn't help but feel such fanatical love for this man; I can only describe his man and his words, as pieces of Heaven coming down to us inferior beings, and if we are decent, then we must grab every shred and piece that he utters, so we can, in turn, save our impure souls.
  "Beautiful thoughts indeed, my Gracious Leader!" I said.
  Then I turned to the listeners:
   "What's wrong with the rest of you? If, one of our 'own' party members was impure, then by what right does he and she have to fight and **** Pigs? We must cease all out activities, until we have a purified party! It's simple and obvious!"
  Thereupon followed silence.


I was speaking the obvious.
  Finally, a voice spoke:
  "So, how exactly are these psychologists going to 'purify' the 'minds' of our party members?"
Good question – one that I had not thought about.
  Indeed, how, and by what means, were we going to purify the undesirables?
  And then, just at the right moment, Omar spoke his words:
  "Yes, that is a great question. There's no use giving orders that no one knows how they are to be carried out. You see, it will not only be the job of psychiatrists who will purify the filthy ones. No, we will force the filthy ones, to ***** out every filthy thought, feeling, and idea; and we shall make sure that all these impure thoughts and feelings and convictions will be screamed out of their minds."
  At that last phrase, once again, I found myself pausing and thinking, what an odd thing to say!
  I got lost in my thinking.
  After all, Omar always, and I mean always choose his words carefully, for he would always make it a point to be so careful with the choice of his words, so that his credibility would never be in doubt and so people do understand that that he means exactly whatever he says.
  I must confess, I was completely confused.
  On the one hand, I had such deep reverence, complete love and a total need for Omar, and then, there was a part of me, that simply didn’t understand what he was talking about!
  I remembered, once more, how everything was so nice and easy and simple with Tony.
  But, I assume, that Tony was a general doctor, whereas Omar was a surgeon, and so, with Omar, we had to face a far more complex situation.
  "What do you mean by that, Sir?" asked one of the officers, waking me up from my thoughts.
  "I mean, it shall be the duty of every party member to purify every other party member. We must all be psychiatrists! This will be done, of course, under the supervision of the leader psychiatrist in each class. He or she will guide you, as to how to get every party member to rip out every Pig attribute in our party members. It's as simple as that."
  At that, Omar gestured to indicate that the meeting was over, and so we left.
  I kept thinking that his idea was, I'm sure, utterly brilliant, but how in practice were going to do this?


  He left his office far too soon.
  We had too many questions to ask, and yet, by leaving us, Omar was, in effect, giving us a 'programme' to do, but without clear, precise orders.
  So, how were we going to carry out his orders?
  What did he mean that 'we must all become psychiatrists'!
  That was absolutely absurd!
  Untrained people cannot simply 'become' psychiatrists, even if they are 'led' by psychiatrists – or to use Omar's words, to be 'guided' by psychiatrists.
  So, Omar's idea seemed to me, to be really a recipe for a catastrophe for our party.
  The more I thought of it, the more I found my mind asking myself the question: why was Omar insisting on this 'purification programme' in the first place?
  Couldn't the party and its members simply continue the struggle, without having to enforce this ridiculous programme?
  And didn't Omar realize that his insistence on us carrying out his orders to do the purification programme, was going to cause absolute chaos, disruption and ultimately mass desertions and expulsions from our party?
  In other words, Omar's sudden 'need' to 'purify' our own members seemed to me to be a self destructive act that would seriously damage the party.


The ceasefire announcement was barely noticed by the Pigs – which came as a shock to many of us.
  The government didn't seem to actually care at our ceasefire announcement.
  Indeed, the Pigs declared that what they termed as the 'social troubles' was, in effect, 'over' and so, therefore, the country could breathe a sigh of relief, and people could now be 'happy'.
  I didn't believe what the government was saying.
  I was of course nauseated by the hypocrisy of the Pig leaders, because, their pronouncements were lies, as usual, and they would of course, continue their merciless war against us, while we had to cease our fire.
  Yes, Leader Omar was probably correct, but I was **** frustrated, because it seemed to me, for the first time since I joined the party, that the Pigs may now well win the struggle.
  It was obvious to me!
  For how on planet earth could we 'win' a war, when we were not allowed to fight, while the same eternal enemy would continue his war against us?!
  Also, to be very honest, I'm not sure that we could 'purify' Pigs in the first place.
  It seemed to me to be a contradiction!
  I would simply have to swallow whatever Leader Omar ordered us to do.
  God knows, he's proven to be correct every time before, and maybe, he will confound us once more with his superior wisdom.
  Have faith, Sara, have faith!
  Never question the Great Leader, for he is superior to all of us; after all, that’s why he’s the ‘Great Leader’ in the first place!
  Keep the faith!
  How can we understand what a su

racism and stereotypes
I’m not chief keef but that’s that **** I don’t like
especially when I’m judged like when people say that I don’t “look right”
cause I tell I’m samoan so I’m supposed to be big and strong
and playing some stereotypical sport like football
it’s just an ethnicity, like anyone else, relax
but on a more serious note, I feel bad for the blacks
tell me why a few weeks ago, my roommate is walkin’ down on mill ave.
and he sees some girl sittin’ alone so he comes over cause he just wants to chat
but as soon as he approaches her, she gets all tense and afraid
cause she’s over here fabricating some image that he’s some kind of troublemaker, like the dude from the movie crash, you know the one with the braids?
I find that **** ludicrous
that many people out there judge off the color of someone’s skin and think they knew all of it
all of who you are and all of how you act
so you supposed to be a gangsta on the streets cause you young and you black
or the only explanation for the brotha with the beemer is he be workin’ that corner sellin’ out dime sacks from his nike knapsack or maybe he’s just one of those cats that likes to rap and occasionally slangs crack
but no, he can’t be no college educated man
he’s wearing a nike outfit and his skin is all black
and don’t even get me started on all the idiots that judge Hispanics and call ‘em wetbacks
what the hell is wrong with this world?
latinos are arguably the hardest working people around
but jose and carlos must be illegal cause they’re holding a shovel and their skin is all brown
so let’s get a group of racist ******* to push sheriff joe arpaio to introduce sb1070
good job Arizona, you’re now the most hated state in the country
cause we don’t like Mexicans cause they’re taking all the jobs that we could have had
but let’s skip the fact that they’re willing to work twice as hard for half the pay with no insurance to cover their back
how do you disrespect anyone, who’s willing to do all that?
and as we go over these issues with all the minorities
racists begin to develop a sense of hate for those that make up the majority
the white people
this girl in class may have not have been paying attention or got an easy question wrong
so let’s just whisper under our breath that she’s just another “dumb blonde”
let’s just assume that she’s daddy’s spoiled little girl cause she has a coach bag
and that she has a lotta of money, no rhythm, and above all no ***
and her daddy’s daddy’s daddy must have owned slaves back in the day
so I’mma use that against her if she ever misbehaves
and act like the majority of her people haven’t matured past that stage
and since they seem like their living well, it must be safe to assume that they were born privileged
and that they’re completely oblivious to the sufferings of other races and completely ethnocentric
*******
all these stereotypes and racist assumptions, *******
why can’t we,
live in a colorblind society,
where all races can connect without the animosity?
well, the answer is, we can, but it starts from us
stop the racism, stop the stereotypes, stop the hate, and begin to trust
in people of all colors with different mothers
like the cliché goes, don’t judge a book by its cover
so just because he ain’t a brother
that don’t mean you gotta give him the cold shoulder
so, if everyone can, I need yall to do me a favor,
I need you to love you, love him, and even love me
love her, love them, love everyone equally
and as for me? I’mma just be me
regardless of what people assume, I have the right to act freely
cause I’m not trynna be the center of attention or the definition of perfection
I’m just strivin’ to be proud of what I see in my reflection…

All that's left of you and I,
Is the past tense.
You and I are
A handful of photographs,
Old emails,
A single boarding pass to Toronto and
Hazy memories,
Fraying at the edges
More and more every day.
I miss you.
I wish you and I could be any other tense.
I wish the thought of you and I mattered.

She’s tense tight
Locked in place with Loctite
Immovable limbs of angular lines
Ripe curves stretched wrong
Tinkling shards of glassed ice
Drop shadowed hooded eyes
Kohl rimmed cries and sighing sobs
Tense tight locked down life
Soul gripping lies slid out to fly
She’s shut off and down
Tense tight unmoving cries

cc2011

i want to see you come
hear the noises you make
feel your body tense
next to mine
your hands in my hair
head thrown back
eyes closed
mouth agape
your pink lips invite me
to swallow your oxygen
with my kiss
it is so pretty, to me
to experience
your vulnerability
in the secret place
between my blankets
but more than anything
i want to give it to you
give you anything you need

I feel lonesome hands approaching mine
to walk me through the desert.
I tense my arms against the open night sky
which cannot be pushed away.

I want you to love my grey skies,
my pensivity that rolls across mountain ranges -
the same to me as sunshine igniting streams.
Just a different lens
through which my creature plays with light.
She is elemental
and sloughs skin off the earth like lava flowing
into the ocean to close its eyes.
I'll eat my own tail
to discover what I already know.

One ... Must show ...
.... " Composure " ....
when facing ... " Exposure " ...
to ... Ignorant Heads ... !!!!! ...
"Showing" ... Disrespect ... !!!!!!

Like those ...
QUICK to run ...
Their ... "jealous" ... gums ...
who ... ACT ... as though ...
They Fear ... NO FOE ... !!!!!!!

There's ... ALWAYS ONE ... !!!!!
who will ... succumb ...
to ... Provoking You ...
through ... " Shady Moves !!! " ...

The ... Type of Fool ...
who can't deal with ....

... " Truth " ... !?!

and runs ... A Show ...
that is .... " A Joke " ....
because their ... flow ...

..... Through .....
Speech ... or ... Prose
is ... Nothing More ...
than ... WEAK and Flawed ... !!!!!

The type ... who lick ...

******* ... ******* ... !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A **** Type ....
" Neo-Fascist " ....
who keeps ... His ...

.... " ******* " ....
CLOSE TO HIM .... !!!!!

Just like .... George ...
and .... Mr. Blair ....

These ... "Evil Types" ...
are ... " Everywhere " ... !!!!!

Offering ... Bribes ...
to ... Dummies Inclined ...
to ... " Towing Their Line ?!? " ...
of ... " Corrupted Designs ! " ...

They're ...

Greasy .... Slimy ....
Sneaky ... and ...  Grimy ... !!!!!

The type ... whose death ...
Won't Be ... " Untimely " ... !!!!!

" What's Wrong ... with them ?!? "

Well clearly, they ....
Have got ... PROBLEMS ... !!!!!

Some ...
Try To ... IMPRESS ...
through their  ....
Use of ..... Text .....
when they should ... accept ...

that their prose ... is ...

.... " Worthless " .... !!!!!

"Classic" .... FOOLS ....
who make ... Wrong Moves ... !!!!!

Just to ... make you ...
Lose your ... cool ... !!!!!

When ... dealing with them ...
" Composure's " ... The Tool ...
that makes them start to ...

..... " Hurl Abuse " ..... !!!!!

and ... continue ...
to break the ... RULES ... !!!

" The Rules " ... of ...
....... The Game .......

that ... CLEARLY ... State ... !!!

RESPECT ... is ... EARNED ... !!!!!
NOT ... Taken ... OKAY ... !!!!!!!!!!!

These FOOLS ... can't take ...

" Truthful Wordplay " ....

So they .....
Choose to display

" Aggressive Traits " ... !!!

when clearly ... They ...
should ... Know Their Place ... !!!!!

Watching those ....
who ... COMMAND ... The Stage ...
with ... Ease ... Composure ...
and .... Such Grace ...

That ...
WHATEVER ... They Say ... !!!?!!!
Leaves ... Them ...

..... Upstaged ..... !!!!!!

" Jealous Ingrates " ....

who think ... because ...
You've ... Walked ... AWAY ...
that ... You're ... AFRAID ...

which is .... Ofcourse ....
Their ... First Mistake ... !!!!!

There's .....
ALWAYS ONE ... !!!!
who is ... So Dumb ... !!!
that their own actions ...
Leave them .... STUNG .... !!!!!!!
and in .... The End ....
cause them ... Problems ... !!!!!!!!

If they were .... " Clever " ....
They'd use ... Their Heads ... !!!
and use ... Their Pens ...
to prove that they're ... " BETTER " ...
than ... " Butting Heads " ... !!!!!! ...

But .....
They choose to ... REJECT ...
Butting ... " Intellects " ...
cos' ... They KNOW ...
that's a ... " Test " ...
that's ... BEYOND ... Their Best ... !!!!!

That figures .......

" Oh Yes " ... !!!!!

because they're ... " INEPT " ...

So they ... Choose to ...
Make ... THREATS ... !!!!!
as well as ... " Disrespect " ... ?!!!?
... " Respected Poets ! " ...
who they know ... write poems ...

Waaaayyyy ABOVE ... !!!!!!

Their attempts .... !!!

They think that they ....
are ... WINNERS ... !!!!!!!!!

When ... CLEARLY ... they ...
are ... SINNERS ... !!!!!!
who are ... Absolute ...
....... BEGINNERS ....... !!!!!

Who ...
NEED to ... Learn ...

to ... SIMMER ... down ... !!!

It's Not ... Their fault ...
that they ... are ... " CLOWNS " ... !!!

But .....
Threats of .... ASSAULT ....
May ... bring them ... DOWN ... !!!!!!

So ....
REMEMBER ... These Words ... !!!!!

They're ... WELL OBSERVED ... !!!!!

Their ... IGNORANCE ...
has ... NO DEFENCE ...
and just ... CONFIRMS ...

Their Lack .....
of ... " Depth " ... !!!

Their ... ARROGANCE ...
Drowns ... " Common Sense " ...

which ... In the ... END ...
They may .... REGRET .... !!!!!

Their movements ...
....... " SMELL " ...... !!!!!!!!!!

of ..... " Jealousy " .....
because they ... write ...

" WEAK POETRY ! "

That ... SHUNS Truth ...
and ... " REALITY " ... ?!!!?

It seems ... " The Truth " ...
Hurts Fools ... like ... THEM ...

..... " Therefore " .....
... " Their School " ...

is one for people ...
with ... " PROBLEMS " ... !!!!!

So .....
Now ... This Piece ...
has reached ......

It's ... " Closure " ...

The Moral ... is ...

when dealing with ...

" Human Insects " ...

Don't get ... TENSE ... !!!

If they choose ta ...
... " Taunt Ya " ...

Ignore them ... YES ...

and show .....

.... " Composure " ....

I live in the past which is why when he left I finally started living in him

the people whose job is to
understand the multiverse
can't figure this world out

rid·dle                      ˈridl/noun: riddle; plural noun:   riddles
1.                                 | a question or statement intentionally
          phrased so as to require ingenuity
    in ascertaining its answer or meaning,
               typically presented as a game;
a person, event,   or fact that is difficult
  to understand or explain.
"the riddle of her death" [puz·zle
ˈpəzəl/verb: puzzle; 3rd person present:
puzzles; past tense: puzzled; past participle:
puzzled; gerund or present participle:
                                             puzzling
1.                          cause (someone) to feel confused because
             they cannot understand or make sense of something:
"one remark he made puzzled me"
synonyms: perplex, confuse, bewilder,
       bemuse, baffle, mystify, confound;
        faze, stump, beat, discombobulate
"her decision puzzled me"
perplexed, confused, bewildered,
       bemused, baffled, mystified, confounded,
                             nonplussed, at a loss, at sea;
             flummoxed, stumped, fazed, clueless,
             discombobulated
"a puzzled look on her face"
baffling, perplexing, bewildering, confusing, complicated, unclear, mysterious, enigmatic, ambiguous, obscure, abstruse, unfathomable, incomprehensible, impenetrable, cryptic
"his explanation was rather puzzling"
antonyms: clear
think hard about something difficult
                   to understand or explain;
"she was still puzzling over this problem
                     when she reached the office"
     | [      ] think hard about, mull over,
muse over, ponder, contemplate,
                                     meditate on,
consider, deliberate on, chew over,                     wonder about
"she puzzled over the problem"
  solve or understand something by thinking hard;
synonyms:                       work out, understand,
   comprehend, sort out, reason out, solve, make sense of,
   make head(s) or tail(s) of, unravel, decipher; informal:                figure out
"she tried to puzzle out what he meant"
noun: puzzle; plural noun: puzzles
1. [                 ], [           ] (                 );
a game, toy, or problem designed
    to test ingenuity or knowledge;
short for jigsaw puzzle                    (see jigsaw)
a person or thing that is difficult to understand
or explain; an enigma:
"the meaning of this poem will always be a paradox"
synonyms: enigma, mystery, paradox,
       conundrum, poser, riddle, problem, quandary;
                     "the poem has always been a puzzle"
  late 16th century (as a verb): of unknown origin:

synonyms: puzzle, conundrum, brainteaser, problem,
      unsolved problem, question, poser, enigma,
                       quandary; informal:       stumper
"an answer to the riddle"
                   verb/archaic
verb: riddle; 3rd person present: riddles;
past tense: riddled; past participle: riddled;
         gerund or present participle: riddling
1.             speak in or pose riddles.
"he who knows not how to riddle"
solve or explain (a riddle) to (someone).
"riddle me this then"
Origin

Old English rǣdels, rǣdelse ‘opinion,
conjecture, riddle’;   related
to Dutch raadsel,
   German Rätsel,      to read

Back in elementary, we were taught how to add the suffix "-ed" or use "was" to indicate that a verb is in its past tense.

At some point of my life, I found myself crushed at the weight of such simple words. I can comprehend what these words imply wherever they may sit in the order of words in a sentence, but I can now never let them slip away without wondering about the why's.

Why is it not here anymore? Why must it end?

There's nothing there anymore but the absence I cannot help but feel and burden upon myself.

At the same time I understood it completely. That the only justification for it was the fact that life has to go on, even if it may hurt you because you are not ready.

I was never ready for it.

And now I'm here, making a big deal out of verbs in their past tense.

God, I used to be very happy.

there is a
moon sole
in the blue
night

      amorous of waters
tremulous,
blinded with silence the
undulous heaven yearns where

in tense starlessness
anoint with ardor
the yellow lover

stands in the dumb dark
svelte
and
urgent

        (again
love i slowly
gather
of thy languorous mouth the

thrilling
flower)

She was,
She used to be,

I still startle

There will no longer be
Any new memories.

I look up
When the skies cry
When there is not a cloud in sight

I talk about her in the past tense now.

Eye on my arm
God squeezes my heart,

I remember the feel
Of toying with her
Sagging skin
’Til mine ages,
I will beam at my ink.

I talk about her in the past tense now.

On nights I cry,
On fine nights
I burst with life,

She cradles my heart.

I can remember that first encounter. He was a man in his early thirties, bright eyes but with a dark grin and was smoking your cigars wearing a black hat and he was also carrying a guitar. He was here to show me how to strum an few chords.

I remember him distinctively saying...

"Guitar playing I am about to teach you is really the same as love making you know?"

I  laughed and blankly said
"but how so?"

" Well... (grinning)
Each string has to be carefully plucked, and contains a different  sensation and vibe if you mishandle the strings that final note will sound awful.

He was showing me how to re-tune and play a few chords which were C, D and G then pass me over the guitar back to me.
"Its your turn dear, and be really gentle"

While doing this and playing the first few chords of the guitar which was D I could feel him rub my shoulders and chest gently.
"Don't worry you can trust me, I was just loosening you up we can't have you feeling tense"
"Now, show me a G"

I begin to play the chord G while doing that he then grasped firmly on my other hand : I can feel a surge of heat from his hands firing up my fingers. This heat was making its way to my chest. He now caressed and circled around the chest and then higher up to my *****. I can feel his breath and his tongue swirling and stretching out to **** on my *******.

"Okay ... final note play me a C"

I crouch down to the floor and begin to strum that final chord and can then feel him stretch his hands beneath my skirt I could feel the sensations further of his fingers strumming my ***** in the same rhythmic motions of his guitar previously.

"See what I said? music playing really is the same as love making"
"I nodded and said yeah I suppose"

A bit shaken and uncertain how to respond but he kept whispering into my ear and repeating that same line: while kissing me on my cheeks, stroking me up and down in circular motions in which I could feel a tense feeling of release and then silence again

Was that the final note?

when you begin to replace
all of the words
with their past tense
maybe then
it is when you realize
that you are truly
sad
and alone
stuck in a muddy rut
drowning in the past
of things that were
and you wish could have been
maybe then
you can accept
but for now, right now
i am living in
past tense

(Yes, better than Harry Potter, get your pitchforks ready)

My first encounter with THG was approximately four years ago, when I had barely turned fourteen, did not consider myself bilingual and was romantically frustrated. Naturally, I made several mistakes at the time. First off, I read the series in translation, since I'm not a native English speaker, and missed out a huge chunk of the significance of the story. Then, as I said, I was romantically frustrated and thus paid such a monstrous amount of attention to the romance aspect of the story that I want to bitchslap myself. Finally, at fourteen, I was still ignorant and uneducated about so many things that I read the series, got hyped for perhaps six months or so, then forgot all about it, save for the occasional rewatch of the movies. In retrospect, this is probably one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made. Now, at the ripe old age of eighteen, a significantly better-read person, waaay more woke, as well as socially aware, I decided to finally read the series in the original and am finally able to put my thoughts together in a coherent, educated review of the series.

The Hunger Games has continuously been compared to a number of other books and series, occasionally put down as inferior and forgettable. In those past few years I managed to read a great part of the newly established young adult dystopian genre and am able to argue that A. The Hunger Games is undoubtedly universal and unrestricted to young adult audiences and that B. it is, without the slightest shade of uncertainty, the best series written in our generation.

While many people draw parallels between The Hunger Games and, say, Battle Royale, the similarities end with the first book, which, while spectacular in execution, seems unoriginal in its very idea. As the series unrolls, however, it is hardly possible to compare it to anything, save for, perhaps, Orwell's 1984. The social depiction and the severe criticism laid down in the very basis of the story are so brutally honest that it fails my understanding how the series was ever allowed to become this popular. What starts out as a story about a nightmarish post-Apocalyptic world works up to be revealed as a cleverly veiled portrayal of our own morally degraded and dilapidated society (if you're looking for proof, seek no further: as the series was turned into several blockbuster movies, public interest was primarily concerned with the supposed love triangle rather than the bitter truths concealed in the narrative). Class segregation, media manipulation, dysfunctional governments are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the realities that The Hunger Games so adroitly mimics. If I were to dissect, chapter by chapter, all three books, I'd probably find myself stiff with terror at the accuracy of the societal portrait drawn by Collins. I strongly advise those of you who haven't read the series between the lines to immediately do so because no matter how many attempts I make to point it out to you, you simply have to read the series with an alert sense of social justice to realize that it doesn't simply ring true, it shakes the ground with rock concert amplifiers true.

Other than the plot that unfolds into a civil war by the third book (the series deals so amazingly with trauma survival and with depicting the atrocities of war that I am still haunted by certain images), the characters of the story are what makes it all the more realistic. Though Hollywood has done a stunningly good job in masking the shocking reality of the fact that these are children - aged twelve through eighteen, innocent casualties paying for the adults' mistakes; children forced into prostitution, fake relationships, children forced into maneuvering through a world of corruption, media brain-washing and propaganda.

Consider Katniss. She is a person of color (olive-skinned, black-haired, gray -eyed, fight me if you will but she is not a white person), disabled (partially deaf, PTSD-sufferer, malnourished), falling somewhere in the gray spectrum both sexually and romantically. As far as representation goes, Katniss is one of the most diverse characters in literature, period. Consider Peeta, his prosthetic leg (which, together with Katniss's deafness, has been conveniently left out of the movies) and his mental trauma in the third book. Consider Annie's mental disability. Consider Beetie in his wheelchair. Consider all the people of color, as well as the fact that people in the Capitol seem to have neglected all sorts of gender stereotypes (e.g. all the men are wearing makeup). There is absolutely no doubt that the series is the most diverse piece of literature out there. Consider this: the typical roles are reversed and Peeta is the damsel in distress whereas Katniss does all the saving.

Furthermore, the alarming lack of religion (in a brutal society reliant on the slaughter of children God serves no purpose), as well as several other factors, such as the undisputed position of authority of President Snow, is suspiciously reminiscent of the already familiar model of a totalitarian society.

The Hunger Games, in other words, is revolutionary in its message, in its diversity, in the execution of its idea, in its universality. I mentioned Harry Potter in the subtitle. While this other series has played a vital role in the shaping of my character, it has gradually receded to the back line for several reasons, one of which is how problematic it actually is. This, though, is a problem for another day. (The Hunger Games is virtually unproblematic and while it may be argued that the LGBTQ society is underrepresented, a momentary counterargument is that *** has a role too insignificant in the general picture of the story to be necessary to be delved into this supposed problem). Where I was going with this is that, at the end of the day, Harry Potter, while largely enjoyed by adults and children alike, is a children's book and contains a moral code for children, it was devised to serve as a moral compass for the generation it was to bring up. The Hunger Games, on the other hand, requires you to already have a moral compass installed in order to understand its message. It is, as I already said, a straightforward critique of a dysfunctional society, aimed at those aware and intelligent enough to pick on it.

As for its aesthetic qualities, the series is written, ominously, in the present tense, tersely and concisely, yet at the same time in a particularly detailed and eloquent manner. It lacks the pretentious prose to which I am usually drawn, yet captivates precisely with the simplicity of its wording, which I believe is a deliberate choice, made so as to anchor the story to the mundane reality of the actual world that surrounds us.

That being said, I would like to sum up that The Hunger Games is, to my mind, perhaps the most successful portrayal of the world nowadays, a book series that should be read with an open mind and a keen sense of social awareness.

It’s hard to move forward in life
When Past still has its razors lodged in your flesh.
It’s hard to look to the past for help
When Future’s clouding your vision.
It’s hard to live in the present
When Past and Future are using your mind
As a rope in a game of Tug-of-War.

The chains Sir keeps upon me mark me as his slave
in holding me so cruelly he gives me what I crave
wrists and ankles linked with slack enough to walk
collar locked about my neck with Master’s name engraved.
I go about my duties here in dress provocative,
with stockings black, seams so straight, Master does insist
and heels that I must teeter on that lift my head so high;
to please in every way I can and reason here to live.

The silver links make such pretty sound as I move around,
in dusting here and sweeping there as quiet as a mouse
I try not to disturb him much or to displease at all.
to do so might invoke his wrath and earn a beating harsh,
but somehow in each working day some anger I incur
I drop a cup, or bang a door, or fail to clean a stain;
things that engender such a frown, and promises of pain.
Master says I do such things that will worst incur his wrath,
as when the water is in error one degree when I run his bath
or when my tongue fails to clean his boots to glossy shine;
which I know will bring punishment as he decides in time.

My protested innocence of no avail, his retribution certain,
I must fetch an instrument from where he keeps them hid
set to receive such punishment as will befit the crime,
while I’m prostrate upon the cross and wait as I am bid.
Sometimes he ties me in that pose for an hour or two,
to give me some reflecting time to think on what I’ve done
though I think as ornament I am there for such regarding,
ignoring me while he gets on with things he has to do.
But stretched and tied I know full well, I will receive my due,
and bound that way serves only to increase anticipation,
as I test the knots he’s used on me to force my body open.

For Master is my owner now, and can do just what he chooses.
Will I be made to count each stroke, measuring my bruises?
To place them in the neatest lines across my tender flesh
missing those fading from yesterday to give me welts so fresh.
As master tests my neediness by drawing finger wet,
making me to **** myself, acknowledging my heat.
I try to hide my needs from him, I really really do,
but betrayed somehow as my flooding self makes clear.
I tense myself and bite my lip as whipstrokes land quite hard,
but I feel myself rising up to meet each one that falls.

Master has forbidden me to ****** here at all
but oh it is so difficult, like that, not to *** withal.
He knows full well that I cannot resist his falling whip
bringing me to peak each time while I hold myself away.
I’ve been told that if I *** with six more I’ll have to pay;
right now that seems a bargain fair, I need to *** this way.
And so with the next cut I have, I can’t hold myself in check
and shudder as my scream is that of some unearthly being,
the cross itself creaks as if to break as I strain in throes of joy.

Not me, that is not me at all, for I am someone far away,
lost in a sea blazing pain as ecstasy releases what I am.
A rapid six falls across me now, though I am oblivious to it all
I hang and quake upon the cross in ropes that hold me so.
Master leaves me there like that, in ways he knows so well.
Hanging, used, a fractured shell, knowing I’ve been through hell
To reach sweet paradise of pain where I need to suffer more.
E’er long my Master will come to cut me down and I can resume
my duties as his servant girl, unless of course he wants me
for use in other ways that only Master can presume.

From the Francesca Anderssen collection of 101 **** Verses 2017

She is past tense,
I do not know her anymore,
She is not me anymore,
I am cold to her,
I insult woman of past tense,
I pull at her hair and scream in her ears.

I am not her,
I plead,
I am not her,
She does sound like me,
She smells as I smell,
of autumn leaves,
baby steps, and
despair infringing on a perfect photo,
She is not me.

I remember her like I was her,
I will swear the monster she is, she has tricked me,
I slap her across the cheek,
Quiet you,
She is not allowed to speak any longer,
She is no longer me,
She cannot dictate my decisions.

I speak of her in past tense,
As if I am not hurting myself,
As if I am no longer her,
As if we do not suffer the same fates and memories.

She whispers for forgiveness,
I look down with cold eyes,
My heart clenches for her,
It aches in my chest like a bruised bone,
Spitting acid rain against her burned and brittle cheeks,
I would not treat a real person this way.

She claws at me for an embrace,
Love yourself the kinder person in my head preaches,
Holding my hand, as if I had not hurt myself enough,
As if my hands were not covered in my own blood,
She is curled in the corner of the room,
Sobbing for my forgiveness,
Pleading to know why I defile her so.

I turn away,
She is not me,
It is okay to hate her,
Even when that means I hate myself.

To the girl who doesn’t understand how much I cared for her,
*******.
******* for being the reason I added five new playlists to my Spotify
They all are helping me as I cry
Over the ghost that haunts my hallways
And it’s you.
It’s your whispering words and terms of endearment
That keep me up at night.
Crying my eyes out.
Crying over our broken relationship and my broken heart.
I’m pretty sure I’m the only one that broke.
Why must you still keep breaking my heart?
You don’t even realize you’re doing it.
But when you tell someone that you loved them
And make sure that they know that it’s past tense,
Well honestly if you stabbed me it would have hurt less.
And now your ghost haunts my head.
It tells me that I am loved.
Past tense.
******* and your ****** past tense.
If only I could hire a priest to get this ghost out of my house
Sadly, I am an atheist.
Is it bad that I still cry over your ghost?
At least I used to.
I used to want to hear you say ‘I love you.’
Present tense.
Now those tears have been replaced by anger.
I am angry at your ghost for becoming a stranger.
It doesn’t feel like I know you anymore.
You used to know what to say to fill me with glee
And now everything you say hurts me.
Did ******* other girls help you get over me?
Please tell me.
I actually want to know because no other method is working!
Your ghost is still lying on my bed
Telling me everything I wish you had said.
******* for saying that I never loved you.
I had feelings for you and I hadn’t addressed a few.
You didn’t give me the time to address them.
You say that I didn’t love you
Yet here I am.
Here I am caring like crazy
Almost two months after you ended it
You aren’t making getting over you that easy.
Do you really think I would be in this much pain
If you were only a like like to me?
Well I don’t know.
Those feelings are replaced by pain and anger
Don’t ask me if I love you
Because I don’t know.
I was too scared of ******* up what we had
You told me that you wanted to take things a bit slower
So I did.
I told you that our relationship would be like a traffic light.
And it’s been red for a ******* while.
*******.
You’re a strange ghost sitting in my room.
Maybe if I just date someone else than I’ll get over you.
I’ll never look at a ukulele the same way.
I will never look at Mickey Mouse the same way.
I will never look at love the same way
Because I now I am familiar with heartbreak.
******* for destroying our relationship and my love for love.
I destroyed your ******* flowers.
Because I wanted some strange kind of revenge.
Although your notes still sit in my storage bins
I can’t stand my blue eyes anymore.
Because that was the main feature of mine you adored.
Everywhere I look something reminds me of you.
It’s like your ghost follows me no matter what I do.
I can never stop feeling those chills down my spine.
I am terrified to face the ghost
Because that’s when I’ll realize that it’s my feelings for you.
******* for making me feel things.
For being so **** amazing.
For being the best part of my day.
For being the worst part of my month.
For being my first love.
*******.

I feel a bit tense
because my love
for you exists in
the past tense.

© Matthew Harlovic

He had two scars on his wrists,
To remind him of the past,
And how important,
Yet fragile
Life can be.
He used to live here,
In the city,
Before he left
And headed South,
In search of something
He never really wanted to talk about.
Maybe  it was something
That wasn't really there
At all.
I remember listening to
Him talk about the possibilities
That awaited him,
I wonder if they're still out there
Waiting
Endlessly for him to come
And turn them into
Reality.
I hope they are.
Somehow, he always
Found a silver lining,
Always managed to relate
To my sorrows
While also making them
Disappear.
Now he's the one who's gone,
And the pain is still here.
Maybe he was too busy
Helping other people find their happiness,
That he lost his own,
Or maybe he finally found what he was searching for
And it was too much,
Or not enough.
I always think about
What he was thinking,
And how I couldn't tell
That something wasn't right,
Maybe it's because
I felt the same way
Too.
Except that I'm still here,
And he isn't.
Replaying all our late night conversations,
It doesn't seem quite real,
That someone who understood so much,
Could feel so alone.
Our conversations are gone now,
Lost in the no mans land of
Old text messages,
Hour long phone calls
And the past.
The only memories I have
Are too real to ever
Evaporate,
Yet even they
Couldn't escape his departure,
And now they lay there
In the deepest corners of my mind,
Tainted by his absence,
Giving a whole new meaning to
Past tense.

Frustrated and hopeful
Angry and happy
Impatient and patient
Dead and alive
Hopeless and trusting
Terrified and overwhelmed in His love
Depressed and joyful
Tense tense tense tense.......!

I will call upon your name
And keep my eyes above the waves
When oceans rise
My soul will rest in your embrace

I am yours and you are mine,
But I have become suicidal over time

before i knew it was all too good to be true,
i genuinely cared so much for you.
you put all this trust into a person,
but they let you walk away while they're there *******' and cursin'.
see, the thing is that we all want to see the person's best,
even though their hurtful words never give you a rest.
we want to see these people grow,
so that one day their love for us will maybe someday show.
that though, isn't love at all,
it's your eyes that are covered by a shawl.
it is good to have hope in the face of the worse,
but that viewpoint is also a curse.
truth be told, toxicity isn't always easy to leave,
this is a thought that's worth to conceive.
before i knew it was too good to be true,
i genuinely cared so much for you.

rumour has it mirrors shatter
at the thought of you having your fathers eyes
I hope you know that if you're looking for a sign
you might find it tying to choke out one last goodbye
at the end of the night
you'll find it wherever home is
I know you hate the smell of smoke
but cigarettes are all I know
so I'm asking you to put up with it
you have every reason to be furious
but I'm hoping you'll take deep breaths and see
how calm they make my blood stream
I only started smoking to ease the pain
it was that or a needle to the vein
a bullet to the brain
too much going on up there anyways
it all just needed cutting out
so cigarettes just made sense
I talk about them in the past tense
but the one between my fingers seems to disagree
open your eyes and see
through all the smoke and mirrors lies me
a double entendre for how things used to be
and how they are currently
the writing is on the wall
in every ****** love song lies a promise
to make the next one stronger
and they keep promising that but the time between gets longer
and all of a sudden the bands broken up
and the symbol of love you used to **** to
is broken like the bond of your parents love
I love you is an apology
forgiveness is given with every similar reply
I love you means that I forgive you
for being broken and for breaking me
because picking you out in a crowded room
is something I've become accustomed to
god I can't stop thinking about the look in your eyes
on that night in July with fireworks in the sky
the last time I remember you saying goodbye
because I shattered at the thought of you having my fathers eyes


smoke and mirrors
06/22/14
9:10am
j.s

sometimes,
the anticipation of a moment
was so much better
than the actual experience
that I wish
it had never happened at all.

I went everywhere in my dream.
I went to the past and saw the future
Took pictures of my old house,
Realized how haunted the neighborhood that I grew up in was.
I took your best friend to my old back yard. Just to dance with her again
I confessed my undying love like it wasn't a problem. And when I turned
She was wind, and I had to cut the air with a blade just for Satans protection.
I ran back inside and packed my old books and kept deciding on which ones to leave behind.
The way the new owners rushed me out
Like time was a decision not worth noting
We drove to a new state, with new faces
And I used my phone to communicate
With my first unrequited love.
How i still want her , but no longer care for her. The way i used to want to hold her sensually ,when i was a ******
Now a primal urge to answer her proposition with the most careless of
"Sure"s
I asked her if it was a dream and the way she said it "could be" made it feel more real.
And after one of the mamma cats died
Leaving all the babies for one tabby to feed
I realized that life is ...
And all i can do is love the runts
Untill they are burried , and then the love changes to a past tense